Stained
by minachandler
Summary: Nyssa's been training Laurel for a few weeks, now. And though Nyssa tries hard to think of Laurel as nothing more than her student, she finds that Laurel is never very far from her thoughts at all. Inspired by the gorgeous pic KC posted on Twitter earlier today with the Black Canary and her beautiful dark pink lips. Black Assassin. (My prompt was "first kiss".)


It was definitely the lipstick.

Nyssa had been training Laurel for a few weeks now, accompanying her most nights when she went out on patrol as the Black Canary. Once, Nyssa had asked why she had added that particular colour to the moniker Sara had chosen – to which Laurel had replied with a smile, "Well, I like to think justice is the new black, so, you know, it kind of fits. That, and I think it's pretty obvious to the people on the streets that I'm not Sara."

"No, you are not," Nyssa had agreed. That much she had come to terms with fairly quickly. Laurel didn't strongly resemble Nyssa's beloved in most respects – Sara had been less headstrong than her sister, whilst Laurel was more open about the vices she was vulnerable to.

Physically, too, Laurel and Sara Lance were also different people. Laurel was taller. Her mask fit her differently. And each time the Black Canary prepared to watch over her city once more, she painted her lips a shocking dark purple, a colour Nyssa had since become accustomed to. It suited Laurel, especially with the newest addition to her costume, the choker that allowed her to emit what Laurel referred to as the Canary Cry – an impressive upgrade from Sara's sonic device, even by Nyssa's standards, as it easily winded Laurel's opponents without her having to do much more than open her mouth and scream.

And then Laurel changed her lipstick. She had emerged from her room, her lips now a darkish pink, a good deal brighter than what she normally wore, carrying her mask in one hand and her wig in the other.

"Ready to go?" she asked Nyssa, and Nyssa was jerked back to reality, tearing her eyes away from Laurel's mouth and busying herself with pulling up her hood and straightening her quiver.

"I am indeed," Nyssa replied. "I notice something… different about you."

If Laurel noticed the change in Nyssa's tone, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she handed Nyssa her wig to hold while she put her mask on. "Yeah, I need to order more Midnight Purple when I get a chance. This'll have to do for now."

Nyssa held out the wig for Laurel to put on. "It suits you."

Laurel's bright lips upturned into a smile at the compliment, and this alone was somehow enough to make a sudden heat rise in Nyssa's belly. "Thanks."

Shaking her head, Nyssa pushed the thought to the back of her mind, where it belonged. Going from one sister to another – that was Oliver Queen's specialty, not hers. Besides, Nyssa knew that even if Sara was in a grave, the mark her soul had made on Nyssa's was still there. When Nyssa closed her eyes, if she thought about Sara hard enough, her little yellow bird would materialise before her, in her mind, smiling, laughing. It would be sacrilege, treachery of the highest order, Nyssa decided, for her to look at Laurel as anything except her student, as well as the sister her beloved had always felt she had to measure up to.

And with Laurel still having much to learn, it was easy for Nyssa to brush off the feelings that had suddenly risen inside her in a way that hadn't happened since Sara – easy for her to forget they had even existed in the first place. While Laurel was fairly good at hand-to-hand combat, she often struggled with disarming her opponents, underestimating their ability to pull a gun or a knife or – in a couple of instances that night – a Taser. And it was that moment of hesitation that Nyssa knew could be the difference between life and death, so, after declaring she would demonstrate, Nyssa used a couple of men harassing a woman outside a convenience store as target practice, a teacher showing her student the ropes, so to speak. And all the while, Nyssa's dismissal of her little moment earlier was as absolute as her defeat of the thugs forced to familiarise themselves with her fists.

Later, though, as Nyssa declined Laurel's offer to stay at her apartment for the night and instead went back to Sara's safe house, Laurel (and the way her mouth parted ever so slightly when she smiled and became lines of sensuous anger when she used her Canary Cry) reappeared in Nyssa's mind the moment she closed her eyes.

Laurel was still dressed as the Black Canary, stick in hand and an unconscious criminal at her feet. She looked up at Nyssa, who had been standing, bow at the ready, a couple of storeys above Laurel. Nyssa jumped down gracefully, landing next to her.

"How did I do?" Laurel asked, and her voice was soft, her face suddenly so close to Nyssa's that she could count Laurel's dark eyelashes by the light of the streetlamp above them.

"Better," Nyssa found herself replying, even as she heard her own sharp intake of breath.

And then, to Nyssa's shock, Laurel lifted her gloved hand to Nyssa's cheek. They were fingerless gloves, which had made Nyssa laugh when she first saw them – because what was the point in that? – but now she closed her eyes at the touch of Laurel's bare fingertips as they grazed Nyssa's jaw. "It's okay, Nyssa."

"But Sara…" Nyssa breathed, halting only when Laurel placed a finger on Nyssa's lips.

"Sara would want you to be happy. That's what she's always wanted."

And as if of their own accord, Nyssa's hands were suddenly framing Laurel's face, before she reached up to tug off the Black Canary's mask. The wig was next, revealing Laurel's much more natural-looking blonde hair underneath, and both of them landed on the ground. Laurel didn't seem to notice, though – her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, ever so slightly smudging her lipstick, and now it was Nyssa's turn.

The two women were practically the same height, so Laurel didn't have to tiptoe to remove Nyssa's hood. She did, however, lean forward so Nyssa could feel the leather of Laurel's jacket press against the League armour she still wore and the warmth of Laurel's breath on her neck. And then Laurel did it again – she licked her bottom lip, whether out of nervousness or anticipation, Nyssa didn't know.

Before Nyssa could find out, Laurel had reached forward, fingers of one gloved hand spearing through Nyssa's hair while the other settled on the back of her neck. And then Nyssa couldn't take it anymore – she closed the distance between them and kissed Laurel, soundly, on her lips, pulling her closer, closer, until not an inch of space separated them and Nyssa's lips were stained dark pink, too.


End file.
